Something That Will Last Forever
by theoofoof
Summary: A Christmas story inspired by Michael Buble's 'Cold December Night'. Ruth gets an unexpected, but much wanted, visitor on Christmas Eve who tells her just what he wants for Christmas. H/R. Oneshot.


**Title: **Something That Will Last Forever  
**Fandom: **Spooks  
**Characters/Pairings: **Harry/Ruth  
**Rating: **T**  
Warnings:** None

**Summary:** A Christmas story inspired by Michael Buble's 'Cold December Night'. Ruth gets an unexpected, but much wanted, visitor on Christmas Eve who tells her just what he wants for Christmas. H/R. Oneshot.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Spooks or any of the characters or dialogue you may recognise. They all belong to Kudos/BBC.

**A/N:** I started writing this forgetting that 'threesummerdays' had already written a H/R fic based on 'Cold December Night', so I checked with her that it was okay to post and thankfully, she said it was! So thanks to her for that! It's unbeta'd so I apologise for any glaring errors.

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_Christmas Eve 2006_

It is a cold, December night; the sky cloudless and the ground covered with fresh, loosely packed snow. It had snowed the previous night and all this morning; playing havoc, as usual, with London's transport system. Luckily the tube found some resilience around midday, so Ruth has been able to get to and from this evening's carol concert without too much trouble. Bundled up to keep out the cold, she treks the short distance from the tube stop to her front door, arms laden with bags full of mince pies and mulled wine; refreshments left over after the concert, as well as a few small gifts from other members of the choir.

Reaching her door, Ruth fumbles slightly with her bags as she tries to locate her keys. After a few moments of searching she is triumphant and unlocks the door, rushing inside into the warmth of the house. There is a small dusting of white flakes on her coat, evidence that it is beginning to snow once again and, as she removes the garment, they drift to the floor, melting as they hit the warm surface. Having removed her coat, she heads straight for the kitchen and retrieves a mug from the cupboard above the sink. She mixes herself some hot chocolate and carries the mug to the microwave, setting it inside and pushing a few buttons. Whilst her drink is warming, she moves to the living room and switches on the plug of her Christmas tree. The fairy lights begin to twinkle and the room feels instantly cosier. She adds the final touches by lighting the fire and igniting a scented candle; 'Christmas Spices'. She sniffs the air and smiles wistfully, the aroma reminding her of childhood Christmases in Exeter.

The microwave beeps, pulling her from her memories and summoning her back to the kitchen. Taking the mug from the microwave, she stirs the steaming mixture several times before picking up the mug. She cups it between her hands, letting the warmth seep through her skin and taking small sips of the sweet liquid. Returning to the living room, she lowers herself gently onto the sofa, being careful not to spill her drink, and settles herself comfortably into the sofa cushions. Taking another sip of the chocolate, she stares at the flickering flame of the candle. As she does so, her mind drifts, from Christmases in her past; with her father, as a young child hanging the stockings on the fireplace and then being shipped off to bed, filled with excitement and sleeping with one eye open. Or fighting with her stepbrother, Peter, over the television remote as a teenager. Nowadays she's more likely to find herself wishing she was home alone with her cat instead of in Cheltenham with her family. Last Christmas, the first after her step-brother's suicide, had been strained. Her step-father sat in the arm chair, staring into space with a glass of scotch, and her mother had desperately tried to overcompensate by being overly jolly and inviting more than half of their extended family; crazy aunts and uncles galore. Tomorrow was likely to be a repeat performance, which is why she had been grateful for the choir concert; it had given her an excuse not to drive over until Christmas morning. Anything to avoid the incessant questions about her life. She can't answer questions about her work, for obvious reasons and of course the only other area of interest that so called 'well-meaning' family members have, is relationships. Not much news there either.

Well nothing she can tell them anyway; she can't exactly tell them she has unrequited feelings for her boss. They have been growing closer ever since his suspension but she still doesn't know if there is more to his feelings than friendship. There are moments, like when she was passing him the memory stick or in the corridor after the Angela Wells debacle, when she thinks there is, but then, later, in the cold light of day, she wonders if she imagines it. At times she wants to throw caution to the wind and ask him for a drink or a meal, but she's not got the confidence. Ask her to do a two hour lecture on Homer's Iliad in front of 200 people and she's in her element but in matters of the heart...well, she's never been particularly forthright.

She isn't sure how much times has passed when she is roused from her thoughts by a sound outside her front door; a shuffling, a thud. Her spook instincts kick in instantly and she is on high alert. She takes a sharp breath and holds it, listening intently. A moment later there comes a loud determined knock.

As she approaches the front door she can make out a silhouette behind the glass, one she recognises instantly. Harry. She stops in front of the mirror on her way, checking her hair and tucking an errant strand behind her ear. Satisfied with her appearance, she opens the door just as Harry is about to knock again; his hand raised ready.

"Harry. Impatient much?" she teases.

He looks at his raised hand sheepishly. "Sorry, but it's bloody freezing out here."

"S-sorry. Come in." She steps back and allows him to enter, deftly shutting out the cold air as soon as he steps over the threshold.

"I'm sorry to call so late; I had hoped to catch you after my meeting with the Home Secretary but by the time I got back to the Grid you'd already left."

"Erm…yes. I had a concert…the choir that I sing with, I mean."

"Ah. Successful?"

Ruth smiles and nods. "Very much so. It was lovely."

Harry returns her smile. "Glad to hear it."

"So, what did you want me for? Was it about the threat assessment? I left it on your desk. Is there a problem?" There's a note of worry in her voice and Harry is quick to assure her.

"The report was fine. Thank you for finishing before you left. No, what I wanted to speak to you about isn't work related actually."

"Oh…right. Well, why don't I take your coat and you go through to the living room while I get us a drink." Harry removes his coat and hangs it on the banister before following the direction Ruth is indicating. He sits on the sofa and is approached by Ruth's cat, nuzzling against his leg. "Wine okay?" Ruth calls through from the kitchen.

"Fine," Harry replies, leaning down to scratch his feline admirer behind the ears. Obviously taken by this stranger lavishing attention on him, the cat jumps up onto Harry's lap and starts to make herself comfortable.

Returning with two glasses and a bottle of Merlot, Ruth rolls her eyes at her pet's actions. "Honestly Fidget, poor Harry hasn't even been here five minutes and you've accosted him!" she admonishes.

"Fidget?" questions Harry, struggling to contain his amusement at her choice of name.

Ruth blushes and concentrates on pouring them both a drink. "It's apt," she finally tells him as she hands him a glass full of the dark rich liquid before sitting down on the sofa. "You'll find out soon enough."

And he does. In the five minutes they spend skirting around the reason for his late night visit, Fidget barely stays still. It breaks the rising tension between them though. "I see what you mean," Harry comments. "Right little wriggler this one."

"Told you his name was apt. Not to be rude Harry but you said you had something to speak to me about, and it's getting quite late and I have an early morning drive to Cheltenham tomorrow so…"

"Right yes. Of course. I'll be right back." Ruth stands as he rushes out into the hallway, returning moments later with a neatly wrapped Christmas present. He hands it to her. "Merry Christmas."

"F-for me?" Ruth is surprised; they'd all exchanges secret Santa gifts yesterday, she'd drawn Zaf and had in turn, received a gift from Adam (she'd known from Wes' trademark scrawl on the tag).

"Yes."

"I don't know what to say!"

"You don't have to say anything…just open it."

Ruth slides her finger underneath the sellotaped seam and opens the gift. Once the paper is off, she is presented with a square box from a very exclusive jewellers. She shoots him a look but he just smiles enigmatically and gestures for her to continue; to lift the lid. She does and her eyes widen as she takes in the contents. An eighteen carat white gold necklace with a teardrop diamond pendant hanging from it.

"Oh Harry! It's beautiful." She fingers the delicate silver chain and lifts the small pendant off its cushion. She stands and walks to the mirror that hangs over the fireplace so she can put the necklace on. Once it's fastened, she admires it through the mirror. "I wasn't expecting…I mean, I haven't got you anything."

"There's only one thing I want Ruth." His voice startles her; he's crept up behind her but she hadn't noticed; but then she supposes, he has had years of practise at his tradecraft.

"Oh?" she squeaks, conscious of his proximity.

"Yes, and it's not something that can be wrapped and placed under a tree." He moves even closer, placing his hands on her upper arms and leaning in. "I want something that will last forever."

"H-Harry?" Ruth can feel his warm breath ghosting over her neck.

"They call it the 'season of giving', well Ruth, I'm here…I'm yours for the taking. Fall in love with me this Christmas?"

She forces herself to lift her head and meet his eyes in the mirror and she's floored by the depth of feeling she sees there.

"Harry…"

"Please Ruth…"

"I can't." Disappointment falls over Harry's features, despite his attempts to mask it. Ruth notices and immediately regrets her words. "No Harry, you don't understand. I mean…I can't fall in love with you this Christmas, because…well, because I'm already in love with you."

Harry's eyes instantly flick to hers. "What?"

"I love you Harry." Ruth confesses. "I have done for a while…I've just been too scared to say anything."

"Why?"

"I didn't know how you felt about me and I didn't want…I couldn't take the risk of telling you and you not feeling the same way. I love my job and didn't want to jeopardise it. You know how much I dread going back to GCHQ."

"There's no way I'd do that."

"Yeh, well I know that now. Well, at least I think I do. You…you haven't actually said how you feel about me."

"I'd have thought the necklace and asking you to be with me would have given you a hint."

For a moment she thinks he's being serious and isn't going to tell her, but then she catches a glint of teasing in his eyes. "Women do like to be told on occasion y'know Harry," she retorts.

"Is that so?" he grins, closing the gap between them.

Ruth finds herself lost for words as his breath tickles over her lips. "Mm-hmm."

"Well, in that case…" he pauses for dramatic effect. "I am in love with you. Truly, madly and deeply in love. So for God's sake Ruth, kiss me…kiss me on this cold December night."

She does. For once in her life, she doesn't think or analyse the situation, she just places her hand on his cheek and draws his face to hers. Their lips meet in a deep sensual kiss filled with love and years of pent-up passion. They kiss for several long minutes and when they break apart they see desire burning in one another's eyes. In that moment, both know exactly where the night is heading. So, gathering up all her courage, for she's never taken the lead in these situations before, Ruth blows out her Christmas candle, takes Harry's hand and leads him upstairs.

* * *

_Christmas Day 2006_

Ruth is awoken from her slumber by the shrill ringing of her mobile phone. She untangles her limbs from Harry's and reaches across the bed side table, shivering slightly as the cold air of the bedroom hits her bare skin.

"Hello?" she greets groggily.

"Ruth! Where on earth are you?" Ruth's eyes snap to the clock; it's 9.15, almost an hour after she was supposed to be in Cheltenham.

"Sorry Mum…I must have overslept." As her mother begins a small tirade about her tardiness, Ruth thinks back to last night; Harry's fingers ghosting over her skin, caressing her in places that had been neglected for so long, the previously unassailable heights of pleasure, and the warmth of his embrace. In that moment she realises she doesn't want to get up and dressed, drive to Cheltenham and spend Christmas Day with her family. She wants to spend it with the man lying next to her; the man she loves with all her heart. "Actually Mum," Ruth cuts in, "I'm not feeling too well; I must have eaten a dodgy mince pie or something last night. I think I'm going to have to give today a miss." She briefly feels guilty for lying but then Harry shifts next to her and her guilt disappears.

Her mother begins to protest, but Ruth stands her ground. After a couple of minutes the older woman realises she will not win and gives in. "I'll see you soon though; say Merry Christmas to everyone for me….I will….bye."

Putting down the phone she turns back to face Harry; wanting to take every opportunity to observe him unguarded. She's too late however; he's awake and looking at her with a raised eyebrow. "A dodgy mince pie?"

"It was the first thing that came to mind! It was either that or I leave you here alone and go and spend the next three days in Cheltenham."

"In that case, it was the perfect cover. I think I've mentioned before how you're a born spook?"

"You did once, yes."

Harry smiles at her and leans in, pressing a kiss to her lips. "So, now that you're not going to Cheltenham, what did you have in mind instead?"

"Well, as I'm supposedly ill, I should probably spend the day in bed…y'know, recuperating?"

"Recuperating? Is that what they're calling it now?" He raises an eyebrow and flashes her a boyish grin. "Well, I think that sounds like a wonderful idea."

He pulls her to him and kisses her firmly; leaving her in no doubt of his intentions for her 'recuperation'.

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A/N: Merry Christmas! Please leave a little Christmas present in the form of a review!


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